


Really Living

by strive2bhappy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-04
Updated: 2012-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-15 23:05:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1322599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strive2bhappy/pseuds/strive2bhappy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This is how they settle down. This story goes AU before the end of season five. Unadulterated schmoop. With Sam and Dean and kids.</p>
          </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is how they settle down. This story goes AU before the end of season five. Unadulterated schmoop. With Sam and Dean and kids.

  
  
Indulgence is what gets me through my day most of the time. And, sadly, a lot of times said indulgence has a lot to do with schmoop. And that's what this is. Unadulterated schmoop. With Sam and Dean and kids. 

  
  
Title:  Really Living  
Pairing:  Sam/Dean eventually, this part only a teeny bit of UST near the end  
Rating:  PG13  
A/N:  This is how they settle down. This story goes AU before the end of season five.   
  
  
  
  
Dean knows his life didn’t change in the blink of an eye – no angel mojo or supernatural force tossing him into another space or existence – but sometimes it feels that way.

  
Even though he can catalogue events and anniversaries and milestones into a list of first times, occasionally he’ll look around himself and wonder _how the hell_. And more importantly _what the hell_ he had done to deserve it.

  
Sometimes he worries it’s some kind of reward for averting the apocalypse. Both he and Sam held tight to their fuck you very much destiny, told both Lucifer and Michael to shove it, and the world very much did not end. Chalk one up for free will.

  
Maybe something – fate, fortune, preordained force – something other than God, he imagines – just said, _here you go._

Even as those thoughts surface, he has a strong sense of _no_. He did this. He and Sam. Crafted this life out of ashes and smoke and sacrifice and built it memory by memory, event by event, and even though it’s nowhere near where he thought he’d end up, Dean knows he’d fight every entity and force on earth to keep it.

  
****

  
Abby was their first.

  
Werewolf found its way into a residential neighborhood. Fucked up seven people before Sam and Dean ended it – and the ones it had turned. They’d been wiping their prints off the house when a noise from the closet froze them both.

  
Dean will never forget the look on her face. Tears and snot and big brown eyes that peeked owlishly out behind glasses and a blanket. Dora the Explorer pajamas. Teeth chattering and hiccups and he wondered how the fuck they hadn’t heard her before.

  
Took them more than an hour to coax her out of the closet and the house. _Don’t go with strangers_ a rule. Mom and dad had said.

  
Dean’s stomach clenched and he knew he couldn’t walk away. That first night at the motel, they found out her name and that she was four, but those were the only two words she spoke for so long Dean thought for sure she had suffered some kind of psychological damage that rendered her mute.

  
It wouldn’t have stopped them, either way.

  
In their defense, they researched. Found out she had no other family. Both sets of grandparents gone and no aunts or uncles or even cousins.

  
She was completely alone.

  
And she was theirs in a way neither of them even thought to question.

  
Dean hopes she doesn’t remember the first time their eyes met was over the barrel of a sawed-off. He’s way too scared to ask, because she’s impertinent and would tell him in no uncertain terms. Sometimes he looks at her and thinks, she knew the hunter's life the longest – back seat of the Impala, diner food, shabby motels – and he hopes they didn’t fuck her up by waiting so long to settle.

  
*****

  
Will saw it. The thing that killed his parents. Looked it dead in the eye, just after he had watched it eviscerate both his mother and father with its teeth and paws.

  
If it hadn’t been for Sam’s lightning-fast reflexes, Will would have been its third victim that night – but Sam had scooped him out of harms way and Dean had delivered the shot to the solar plexus and burned the corpse and by the time he’d gotten back to the car, Will had puked three times and sat on the ground in front of the grill, fevered and frightened and very much alone.

  
The nine-year-old had looked to them for answers, so they did the only thing they could – tucked him in the backseat beside Abby and didn’t stop until they were three states away.

  
*****

  
By then, getting the house only made sense and it didn’t prickle Dean’s vagabond spirit nearly as much as he feared. In fact, oddly enough, it grounded him. Besides, motels weren’t conducive to four people, especially when two of them weren’t even in double digits and were dealing with the aftermath of surviving.

  
Dean had left it to Sam and he’s still not sure how he managed it, but his brother had found them a reasonably priced, already furnished, three-bedroom home on the outskirts of a town that was barely a blip on the map.

  
Dean still wonders if Sam hadn’t been planning the whole thing a lot longer than he let on.

  
*****

  
So, the sleeping arrangements were this: Sam and Dean took the master and set up Abby and Will in the rooms across the hall. And it wasn’t as weird as it probably should be.

  
*****

  
The salt lines along the windows and doors became an annoyance and constantly had to be redrawn, so Sam took a page from Bobby’s panic room to forge iron and salt and framed the windows and doors with it.

  
Dean’s little brother really was a fucking genius when he put his mind to it.

  
They drew sigils on the walls and covered them over with a fresh coat of paint, so that anyone walking into the house wouldn’t even notice the protection, but it let them sleep a little easier at night.

  
*****

  
Jobs were surprisingly easy. The garage on the other end of town was hiring, so Dean got to impress the other mechanics with how much he knew about engine repair on just about every make and model of vehicle, even if the newer ones occasionally stumped him with the computerized bullshit. And damned if Sam didn’t find himself some bookstore gig, where he taught the old guy who owned the place, Gus, how to capitalize on internet sales and double his profits that first year. Gus insisted they share the spoils.

  
Sam just grinned that shit-eating smile only Dean could ever catch on his face.

  
*****

  
The paperwork for school says that Sam Roberts and Dean Tyler (and Jesus, did they argue about that one – Dean still insists if they play their cards right, he could swindle Liv out of the fortune) are the legal guardians of Abigail Beth Black and William Joseph Sutcliffe.

  
They keep the kids’ real names as a tribute and hope to hell it doesn’t come back to bite them in the ass.

  
*****

  
The first day of school – all-day kindergarten for Abby ‘cause she passed the tests and turned five since they found her, even though it was a little early, and third grade for Will – and Dean feels more nervous than they look. It’s the first time either of them has ever been out of Sam or Dean’s sights since they found them and it leaves Dean with an uncomfortable quiver low in his stomach.

  
The rush and bustle and busses and swarms of kids makes Dean’s gut knot with an instinctive _forget it, not gonna happen_ and he’s just about to tell Sam that they can homeschool the kids when his brother gives him a look that says he knows what Dean’s thinking and they’re doing this.

  
"They’ve got the charms and just about every protective symbol we know," Sam keeps his voice low in the front seat. "They’ll be fine. We agreed. They need this. They need normal."

  
Dean wants them to have it, he does, and Sam knows it, but Christ, the thought of leaving them in that building and walking away is like flaying his skin off his body. He really doesn’t know if he can do it.

  
"Dee?" Abby’s soft voice from the back jerks Dean out of his panic.

  
"Yeah, baby girl?"

  
"Can you and Sam and Will come in with me?"

  
Dean catches her wide-eyed look of apprehension as she adjusts her glasses further up her nose and watches the teaming masses outside the Impala with an air of almost dread.

  
Sam shoots him a glare that says if he freaks, they’ll freak, and Dean resigns himself to what he has to do. He drags in a gulp of air and puts on his best gameface. "Tell you what, Abs, how about I take you to your class and Sam can take Will to his," he winks at Will in the rearview and the boy gives him the most adult smile he’s ever seen on a nine-year-old face, "and as soon as that bell rings at the end of the day, we’ll be out here waiting to get you both and tonight we’ll do the Hoss’s buffet, sound good?"

  
It takes her a while, but eventually she nods, inhales a deep breath that mirrors Dean’s from just a few seconds earlier and murmurs, "Kay."

  
Dean’s about to protest one more time in a last ditch effort to Sam, but his brother’s already out of the car with a "Ready, Will?" and the two head toward the front steps.

  
Gritting his teeth, Dean makes his voice as optimistic as he can. "We gotta catch up, baby, come on."

  
Abby crawls out of the Impala and snatches Dean’s hand almost immediately, her grip  remarkably strong for a five-year-old. Their pace is a bit slower than Sam and Will, Abby’s eyes darting from one kid to the next, gnawing on her lower lip, in the way Dean knows means she’s worried.

  
"Okay," Dean stops, turns and kneels down to face her, noticing her big brown eyes look a little wet. "Let’s talk. Have I ever lied to you, about anything?"

  
She shakes her head slowly.

  
"We’re straight with each other, right?"

  
Again, the little head bobs, shaking the dark auburn curls.

  
"Alright, then. There’s nothing to worry about here, Abby. Everything’s going to be fine, okay? I promise."

  
"Don’t want to go, Dee," her lower lip starts to quiver and Dean feels his resolve crumbling.

  
He thinks of Sam, so determined to give these kids a typical childhood, and he knows that this has to be and he hopes he sounds reassuring. "Abby, it’s gonna be awesome. Kindergarten’s all coloring and napping and singing."

  
Here eyes brighten, "Like Firehouse and Bon Jovi?"

  
Dean can’t repress his grin. "Not necessarily, but you can teach me all the new songs you learn."

  
She still looks skeptical.

  
"How about learning your numbers and how to read?"

  
"Already know," she asserts, and damn Sam for teaching her that, anyway.

  
"Then you’ll be the star kid in the class, won’t that be cool?"

  
She shrugs.

  
"Come on, baby, let’s at least see what the classroom’s like, okay?"

  
The sigh he gets sounds like the weight of the world is attached, but he can see her square her shoulders and there’s resolve in her face.

As if he doesn’t love this little girl enough as it is, his heart clenches just a little tighter. Jesus.

  
They walk hand in hand into the building, Abby’s Dora the Explorer backpack swishing with each step. The bright colors of the walls outside the kindergarten classroom make them both blink a few times, but Dean smiles at her when she looks up. "Here we are," he says.

  
She eyes the doorway with trepidation and Dean wonders if all the salt lines she has seen laid down in the past year-and-a-half have made her believe the monsters live in the in-betweens. He’ll probably have to explain that to her someday.

  
She lets go of his hand and just when Dean thinks she’s going to take that first step on her own, she pivots and latches onto his knee and thigh with a whispered, "Please don’t make me."

  
If Dean believed in divine intervention anymore, he’d swear that’s what makes Sam materialize in that exact instant, but since he doesn’t, he chalks it up to good fortune, ‘cause another two seconds of Abby’s clinging and pleading and he would have had them both back in the Impala headed for home.

  
Sam must see that in Dean’s face because he gives him a rueful smile, one that says he’s been caught, and bends down to Abby to ask softly, "Hey, sugar, what’s up?"

  
She peers around Dean’s leg, wiping her nose against his jeans and gives a sniffle as an answer.

  
"Freakin’ out a little?"

  
She nods and hides her face against Dean again.

  
Sam slides his palm to the nape of her neck, dwarfing her head in his hand. "Talk to me for a sec?"

  
She sniffs, but extricates herself from Dean to wrap her arms around Sam’s neck as he stands. Sam buries his nose in her hair and Dean knows he’s smelling that unique scent that’s wholly Abby – a combination of baby shampoo, baby powder and innocence.

  
Sam’s voice is almost lulling. "Listen, Abby, I know you're scared. I was too on my first day of kindergarten."

  
This makes her pull back, intrigued seemingly despite herself. "You were?"

  
Sam nods. "It’s scary being someplace by yourself, even though it looks pretty cool and it might be fun."

  
"Were you alone?"

  
Sam makes eye contact with Dean over Abby’s head, and a warm feeling trickles through Dean’s chest. "No," Sam whispers. "I wasn’t. And neither are you. How about Dean goes to say goodbye to Will and I sit with you for a little in your class and help you find some of the cool stuff?"

  
She nods and Sam tucks her head against his neck as he addresses Dean. "Upstairs, first door on the left. Mrs. Stratton’s class."

  
Dean watches Sam walk into the kindergarten room, a literal giant in the space, and sees him sit down on the floor under the coat hangers, with Abby in his lap, wiping off her tear-stained glasses with the hem of his button-down, and Dean wonders once again if she’s too young for this. If, despite the scores on the tests, maybe she needs another year.

  
Sam glances up with a soft look and tilts his head toward the stairs. Dean heeds the unspoken suggestion and mouths, _I’ll be back_. Sam acknowledges it with a bob of his chin.

  
The colors on the third grade wing aren’t quite as bright, but the atmosphere is still welcoming. He finds Mrs. Stratton’s nameplate over the door and peeks around the corner, until he catches sight of Will, sitting in the far corner, looking for all intents and purposes like he’s trying to blend into the wall and wow, does Dean remember that feeling – of being the new kid in a school and not wanting to be noticed.

  
He’s not sure what makes Will look up, but they make eye contact and with as much subtlety as Dean can muster so as not to call attention to himself, he gives Will double thumbs up and is rewarded with a small smile and shift of shoulders that speaks of a bit more confidence. Dean uses sign language to communicate _see you after school_ and watches Will form the sign for "K" with his little fingers down low on the desk.

  
Dean winks and backs away.

  
By the time he gets back to the kindergarten room, there’s an odd buzzing in his chest he hasn’t felt in years and he finds Sam still on the floor, surrounded by a pile of five- and six-year-olds and what looks like about seven tubs of Lincoln logs. His brother’s apparently overseeing the extensive completion of a complex structure, while kids climb him and giggle and settle into the room.

  
Abby’s coat and backpack are hooked on a coathanger and she’s busy chatting up a blond girl with pigtails, explaining how Sam knows how to put the building together so it won’t fall over.

  
A young woman who, in another lifetime, Dean probably would have hit on, finds him standing just outside the door.

  
"He’s a natural," she tells him.

  
"He’s something," Dean confirms.

  
Her eyes shift between them and he swears he sees a warm glow there, like she knows something possibly even he doesn’t. It throws him off for a minute and he has to look away from her scrutiny. She grins out the side of her mouth and her voice carries when she says, "Boys and girls, why don’t you find your spots at the tables and we can start our day?"

  
He sees Abby stiffen slightly against Sam’s knee and Sam leans into her hair to whisper something that has her nodding tentatively. She takes a deep breath, gives Sam a lingering look and takes the seat by her name.

  
Sam gets the rest of the Lincoln logs back into the tubs and joins Dean at the door. They watch for a few minutes while Abby gets absorbed with crayons and the kids at her table, until Sam tugs gently on Dean’s elbow and they make their way to the Impala.

  
The fizzy feeling returns to Dean’s heart, redoubled, and he stops before opening the driver side door.

  
"Dude," Sam says around a slight chuckle over the roof. "It’s fine. They’re going to be fine."

  
Dean sighs. He knows that, logically, he does, but he remembers what it was like to drop Sammy off for school every first-day they had for twelve years and he has to rub the tightness in his chest because this is ten times worse. Those kids know exactly what’s out there and Dean can’t help feeling like he’s abandoning them and is so scared they think the exact same thing.

  
Rationally he realizes the absurdity of it all, but understanding doesn’t do much to stop the fear and worry in his gut.

  
And again, even with the guilt that it brings, he notices another disconnect with his dad. No way in hell he would ever consider leaving those two anywhere on their own. He’s having a tough enough time walking away from an elementary school; the thought of driving off with them in some nameless hotel for the weekend actually makes him shiver slightly and nausea boils in his stomach.

  
He’s amazed how much Abby and Will have come to mean to him.

  
"Come on," Sam taps the roof twice. "We gotta get to work."

  
Dean considers trying to get a job with the school district so he can keep an eye on them everyday, but that seems pretty stalker-like and even he knows it’s a little over the top. So he pulls away from the curb and tries not to throw up all over the upholstery.

  
*****

  
Caroline’s arrival is so ridiculous, it would be funny if it didn’t freak Dean the fuck out.

  
It’s a random Wednesday night and Sam had just put the chicken nuggets and tater tots into the oven for dinner when the doorbell rings.

  
Dean finds a goth-like chick on the other side, jet black hair, lots of fishnet and eyeliner and despite the odd appearance, his gut screams _hunter_ and his fingers twitch for a gun. He stops just short of losing his shit when he notices the baby in her arms.

  
"Dean Winchester, right?" she asks, chewing on the silver ring through her lip.

  
The use of his actual name shoots through him like a spark of adrenaline and he pulls his shoulders back, widens his stance, the instincts honed over decades never far from the surface and he slides into it like a second skin. He narrows his eyes and the girl on the other side of the door looks seriously anxious.

  
She immediately starts to chatter. "Look, Bobby Singer told me to come," she thrusts the squirming baby at him and it’s only reflexes that keep him from dropping the child onto the floor. Bobby’s name freezes him in place.

  
"What?" he asks, rearranging the baby in his arms to a more comfortable position.

  
"It was a," her voice drops to an almost stage-whisper, "h-hunt gone bad and I couldn’t leave her there, but I don’t do kids, you know? I mean, me? Come on. So I called Bobby and he gave me this address." She tosses a bag of diapers at him and Dean finds he has literally lost the power of speech. He worries he might actually be gaping like a landed fish.

  
Sam chooses that moment to appear from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. "Dean?"

  
The girl’s eyes get even bigger behind the layers of makeup and she takes a nearly imperceptible step back. "So, anyway, good luck and all."

  
She makes it to her beat-up Toyota remarkably fast, despite the platform boots and peels out of the driveway like hellhounds are on her tail.

  
"Who was that?" Sam asks.

  
Dean turns and when his brother notices the bundle in his arms, Sam’s face becomes even more confused. "Dean?"

  
Dean tries – he really does – to form coherent words and sentences, but instead, he steps up to Sam, hands him the baby and after a few fumbling moments of awkward uncertainty on his brother’s part, Sam arranges the child against his chest. Dean reaches for his cell phone on the end table.

  
Bobby answers on the first ring. "Figured it would be you."

  
"Are you fucking kidding me with this, Bobby?" Dean fires out on a low whisper, so the two kids in the other rooms couldn’t hear.

  
"Just calm down for one second, boy, and let me explain."

  
"We’re not running a goddamn day care here, you know?" Dean accuses.

  
"Bobby knows about this?" Sam asks, still looking baffled, but jiggles the baby into cooing on his shoulder, feet kicking into the air. Dean shushes him with a wild flapping of his arm.

  
"I checked. She’s got no one," Bobby explains.

  
Dean scoffs as if that makes this all okay. "So you thought, what, we’d be up for it? Jesus, Bobby, we got nothing here for a baby."

  
"You hearing me or do we have a bad connection? She’s got nobody and Carla can’t care for her."

  
"The goth chick?"

  
"Yeah," Bobby confirms. "Hell of a hunter, but no way she’s guardian material."

  
"He’s kidding, right?" Sam wants to know.

  
"You’re kidding, right?" Dean parrots.

  
"Look, Dean, nobody’s coming for her, okay? If you want, drop her off at the nearest foster care agency out where you guys are." Bobby’s voice holds a slight note of censure.

  
Dean looks at the bright blue eyes of the baby in Sam’s arms, her back to his chest, and he wonders if certain people can actually see the word sucker on his forehead. The little girl flails both her arms and her legs at him and squeals and Dean’s throat feels tight. Damn it.

  
He sighs into the phone. "She have a name?"

  
"Caroline." Bobby has the gall to sound somewhat smug.

  
Realization shivers a cold shot down Dean’s spine and his next question is tough to get out. "Bobby, how old is she?"

  
He sees Sam’s eyes widen and his hands tighten around the baby in his arms.

  
"It’s nothing like that, Dean. She’s about eight months. Parents killed by a chupacabra before Carla could take it out. No other family, no relatives I can find."

  
Dean lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding and shakes his head at Sam, watching his brother’s grip ease marginally.

  
"Jesus, Bobby," Dean breathes.

  
Sam’s eyes narrow and Dean watches him run calculations in his head, determining how they could do this, what they would have to get, how they would work the new addition into the budget. His chin comes to rest on the baby’s head and Caroline reaches up to grab at his lips with a giggle. Sam’s answering smile and resulting nibble on her fingers says he’s already hooked.

  
"Up to you guys," Bobby’s saying into Dean’s ear. "I just figured with....well, you know," his voice gets gruff. "You and Sam, you’ve done a hell of a good job there with what you got and you both seem....shit, I don’t know, you both just look...settled. Hell, happy. And this little girl needs somebody and I just thought..." he clears his throat. "Christ, can you just say something to stop me here?"

  
It may be the most words Bobby has used at one time since Dean met the man and it makes Dean chuckle. "Alright, Bobby. Okay. We’ll see what we can do. Gotta get some stuff, for the night at least, so I’ll talk to you."

  
"Yeah," Bobby grumbles. "And, hey, Dean? Thanks."

  
The line goes dead before Dean has a chance to reply and he folds his cell closed against his hip.

  
"Really?" Sam asks.

  
Dean shrugs. "Unless you wanna make a trip to the foster care agency."

  
Sam inhales deep. When he lets it out, the breath disturbs the sparse outcropping of hair on Caroline’s head and she hiccups a little laugh. "Dean, we don’t have anything at all for a baby here."

  
"Trip to Walmart after dinner?"

  
Sam considers this for about two seconds before his eyes blow wide open and he murmurs, "shit, dinner," practically tossing Caroline into Dean’s arms.

  
The chicken and tots are spared and surprisingly edible by the time Sam yanks them out of the oven.

  
Dean follows him into the kitchen with a "way to go Betty Crocker."

  
Sam glares.

  
Will makes a noise and looks up from doing his homework at the kitchen table. "Dean?"

  
Dean sits across from him, baby still in his arms and calls Abby in from coloring in the dining room. "Guys, this is Caroline. She’s an orphan and needs a place to stay. Sam and I want to help her, but we want to make sure you’re both okay with it, too. ‘Cause we’re all in this together." He looks back and forth between them. "So, what do you think?"

  
It takes a few minutes for Will to speak and his voice wobbles a little. "Are her parents dead?"

  
Dean swallows the lump in his throat and answers, "Yes."

  
"Was it," he coughs. "Was it the same as..."

  
"It was a monster, Will, but not the same one." Dean can’t complete the thought out loud, even though the words _that killed your parents_ seem to hang in the air. Dean wishes like hell he didn’t have to make statements like that to the kids.

  
Sam moves to sit beside Will and places a kiss on his head. The boy leans into the contact.

  
Abby slides next to Dean and inspects Caroline with a intensely knowing, alarmingly adult look. "She’s all alone?"

  
Dean nods, again noting how the glasses make Abby’s brown eyes appear slightly magnified.

  
The little girl bobs her chin, seemingly satisfied. "Okay, then."

  
Dean glances to Will who has crawled into Sam’s lap. "What do you think, buddy?"

  
He sighs and snuggles closer to Sam. "I think we should help her."

  
Sam asks, "So you’re both okay if she stays?"

  
Abby and Will nod at the same time. Caroline screeches a happy sound.

  
Dean can’t help but smile across the table at his brother. "Sounds like that’s decided."

  
Sam answers with a grin of his own. "I’ll say. At a rather disturbing volume."

  
Abby giggles.

  
"Okay," Sam squeezes Will. "Let’s get dinner on the table and then we gotta make a Walmart run for supplies."

  
Abby and Will both perk up at the mention of Walmart and help set the table so eagerly, Dean fears the trip could have dire consequences.

  
*****


	2. Chapter 2

By the time they’ve got everything they think they might need for the baby – from clothes, diapers and food to a crib and a car seat – Abby has talked them into a new Dora toy and Will’s got a Transformer in the cart. Dean thinks it’s sick how he’s so wrapped around their fingers.

The candy at the checkout really sends things downhill.

"Guys," Dean says reasonably. "We’ve got candy at home."

"Not Nerds," Will proclaims, shaking the box of pink and purple candy.

Dean concedes his point with a raised eyebrow and looks to his brother for help. Sam’s at the front of the cart making the most ridiculous faces at Caroline just to get her to giggle. His comical facial contortions work nine times out of ten.

"Sam," Dean grunts. "Wanna help me here?"

Sam doesn’t look up. "You’re doing fine."

Dean shrugs. "Alright, one – only one – for each of you."

Sam rolls his eyes, but Abby and Will light up and begin the process of selection.

"Easy mark," Sam murmurs.

"Those who refuse to help don’t get to judge the outcome."

Sam shakes his head around a smile.

*****

Caroline’s a whole different set of experiences for them.

Dean must have forgotten the gag-inducing smell of diapers or at least put the sense memory out of his head. The first time he changes one, he feels the need to announce, "Christ, my eyes are actually watering. How can you do that to strained peas?"

Caroline plays with her toes and babbles nonsensically, seemingly unaffected.

She’s also teething, which means she sometimes has trouble sleeping through the night. They’ve found the only thing that calms her down is Sam swaying back and forth with her in his arms in the living room, singing Neil Diamond. Or trying to. His horribly out of tune warbling of the song that includes her name somehow seems to soothe her as she whimpers and gnaws sleepily on the frozen teething ring they keep by the ice in the fridge for just such nights.

Dean stands dozing in the doorway and when he opens his eyes to find Caroline fisting the V of Sam’s t-shirt in her tiny fingers, he feels a kinship with the little girl, knowing there have been many times in his life he’s grabbed onto Sam, too, when things got rough.

The day Dean spends on the internet researching baby websites, he moves Caroline’s crib from Abby’s room into the master with him and Sam, because the idea of SIDS makes him unable to sleep without being able to check on her.

Even while Sam reassures him that putting her on her back will help reduce the chances and that the incidents have really decreased over the years, Dean still sleeps with one eye open on her for at least a month and Sam, thankfully indulges him.

Dean even catches his brother peeking into the crib from time to time himself. Dean knows he worries just as much about them.

Sometimes he thinks about the monsters that are still out there, but he knows people like Bobby and Rufus and hell, even that Carla chick, are on it, and he feels a little less guilty. When he looks into the faces of his three kids (and that’s how he’s come to think of them – as his – his and Sam’s) he can’t help but consider that maybe through them, he’s still helping. Still making a difference, fighting the effects of the supernatural creatures out there by providing a life for those harmed.

It’s a comforting thought.

*****

On Thursday, Sam tells Dean he’ll get the kids from school and make a quick run to the grocery store to restock food supplies. He knows Dean’s been struggling with the catalytic converter on a late model Cavalier and he needs the extra time at the garage.

Sam’s plan sounded like a good idea in theory, but by the time he’s made it halfway through the produce section, he starts to realize he may be in over his head.

He’s not sure what happened in school that day, but Will and Abby are wound tighter than a drum and practically bursting with energy. They both chatted incessantly in the car across town and haven’t let up since.

He’s got Caroline tucked into the seat of the shopping cart and he’s trying to keep one eye on Will and one on Abby and still come away with the food on his mental list, but it’s taxing to his already worn out mind.

Their web server crashed two days ago at the book shop and he’s been on the phone to some tech in Alabama trying to iron out the problems with the site so people can see one-page excerpts from books they have in stock by clicking on a pdf file, but it’s been a struggle. If he has to hear it's gonna be fine (pronounced "fahn" in that distinguished southern drawl) one more time, he may have to figure out a way to actually travel through the phone and kick somebody's ass. He’s seriously contemplating changing their host company once this contract runs out.

He recognizes Abby’s giggle about three seconds before she pulls a tomato from the bottom of the pyramid pile.

It’s the first time in a while he’s grateful for his height because he makes it to her with one lunge and grabs her wrist before she can topple the entire selection. “Abby, come on,” he scolds. “You know better than that.”

She gives him that impish grin that says she knows she’s cute and can get away with stuff – the one that Dean never fails to smile at – and in that second it grates on Sam’s nerves. His voice drops a little lower. “Knock it off.”

She skips off without a word and Sam moves back to the cart, grabs a couple of apples, bananas and a green pepper and onion for dinner, and turns into the chip and cracker aisle. Will marches toward him with his arms loaded down.

“Will, no,” Sam tries to sound as casual as he can at the moment, so as not to cause a scene. “We’ve got all kinds of snack stuff. We’re just here for the basics.”

“But these are good, Sam, and look,” he shakes a bag of pretzels in his hand. “Chocolate covered!”

Sam’s head starts moving back and forth, but Will just dumps his bounty into the cart.

Caroline claps her hands and latches onto the string of Sam’s hoody. The knot at the end immediately goes into her mouth. Sam ignores the drool to instead concentrate on the growing quantity of junk. “Will, I’m serious. We’re not getting all this.”

“Please?” Will whines, puppy dog eyes on full-blast, and Sam kind of regrets ever teaching him that, especially because it’s only cute when he does it to Dean.

Sam pops the string of his hoody out of Caroline’s mouth and starts putting the food back. “Not right now.”

Will huffs a dramatic sigh and opens his mouth to argue.

“Will, I’m not joking around, okay, it’s been a long couple of days and I don’t want an argument, alright?”

Will clamps his mouth shut, but gives Sam a mutinous stare.

Abby shrieks as she rounds the corner and starts up a litany of _SamSamSamSamSam_ , stopping only when she gets to the cart. Figuring he’s going to have to talk her out of whatever she’s found that she’s “gotta have,” he’s surprised to see her hands empty. “What?” he asks.

She looks up at him through her glasses, wraps her little fingers around the metal spokes in front of her and for whatever reason – probably something only higher powers can figure out – uses her entire body weight to shake the cart.

“Abby, Jesus, what is the matter with you?” Sam asks, grabbing Caroline’s shoulders before the baby can bounce right out of the seat. “Stop it.”

Abby giggles, steps up on the rack below and monkey crawls her way to the end of the cart, where she starts to jump.

“Abby, enough,” Sam pulls out the voice that makes even Dean stop short and it works on Abby, too, apparently. “We’re not gonna be here that much longer and you need to just behave, okay?”

She nods, the very picture of innocence and a tight feeling worms its way through Sam’s belly.

They make it into the spaghetti aisle with little incident until Will decides he wants his turn on the end of the cart.

“Come on,” he shoves. “You’re hogging it.”

Abby just clings tighter and grates, “Nooooo. I don’t wanna get off,” the volume rising with each word.

“Guys,” Sam warns, but the battle has already started.

Will pushes with all his strength and Abby kicks out at his shin, the toe of her sneaker catching him right on the bone and they both start screaming.

Sam notices other shoppers wincing and giving him dirty looks. He rounds the end of the cart and separates them both with a hand on each shoulder.

“Sam, she wouldn’t let me have a turn!”

“I don’t wanna get off!”

“Oh my god,” Sam gives them both a shake, trying to pitch his voice into a calming register, when what he really wants to do is scream right along with them. Luckily he’s had years of practice with his brother, so he’s gotten pretty good at masking the urge to throttle people. “What in the world is the matter with you two? Huh? You know you’re not supposed to act like this. I gotta get some stuff for supper and all I’m asking is that you give me maybe fifteen minutes and then we’ll get going, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Neither of them utters a word and Abby’s lower lip starts to tremble. “I wanna ride the cart.”

Will huffs, “You’ve been there forever! No fair!”

Sam clenches his teeth. “Okay. Will, you’re on the left and Abby, you’re on the right and NOBODY gets to ride, instead you gotta keep your hands by me on the cart. How about that?”

They both start jabbering at the same time, pleading their cases in a ridiculous mockery of what might be some kind of court system in some alternate universe and Sam just marches them both to either side of the cart and sets off to find some strip steak for the stir fry he’s planning for supper.

They stare at him as though he’s the greatest ogre they’ve ever known and he hates to admit that it hurts a little to see the condemnation in their eyes, but at the same time he knows he can’t have them running around like monsters in public.

He’ll never tell Dean, but he’s read a lot of child rearing books at the shop. From Dr. Spock to the more new age stuff, figuring he’ll pick and choose what he thinks will work, so that the kids can grow up to be reasonable, responsible, decent adults. It’s up to him and Dean to give the kids that kind of upbringing.

He knows that reading to them at a young age will spark an interest in education, so he does that every night. He talks to them like they’re adults and presents them with choices and asks them to help him so that they can not only feel like a part of the family, but also think for themselves.

Before this, before they found the three of them, he and Dean would joke and mock and laugh about uncontrollable children in the various diners they would frequent and how the parents must have their heads planted firmly up their asses to let the kids get away with that kind of unruly shit.

He never realized how hard it was, but he knows he’s gotta be the grown up in these kinds of situations and he’ll be damned if his kids are gonna be seen like hooligans when they’re out places.

The bad-tempered silence only lasts a couple of minutes, before they’re poking each other around Sam’s legs, squealing that high-pitched noise only kids can really make.

Sam takes hold of their fingers and places them on the handle of the cart and says, “Okay, I’ve asked you both to just give me the time I need to get the shopping done and I’ve asked NICELY. I’m not going to tell you again. If you can’t behave yourselves like decent human beings, we’re going home and I’ll make peanut butter sandwiches since that’s pretty much all we’ve got left in the house. So what’s it gonna be? Your choice. Behave and have a nice supper or keep this up, go home now and eat peanut butter?”

They stand in silence for a full two minutes.

Sam sighs. “I’m gonna need an answer so I know we’re on the same page here.”

Will’s the first to speak. “Behave.”

Abby just nods.

“Good choice,” Sam pronounces with satisfaction.

The truce turns to friendship again when Abby makes a gurgling sound with her tongue that Will says sounds like a fart and the two nearly fall over with hysterical giggles.

“Inside voices, you two,” Sam tells them somewhat distractedly as he tries to remember what brand of canned chili it is Dean won’t eat – Hormel or Dinty Moore.

When he’s not looking, they scamper off together and Sam calls out, “Stay with me, you guys” just as they round the end of the aisle and get out of his sight.

Sam stops. Just stops and it all catches up to him. The agonizing issues at work and the fact that all he wanted to do was make a quick run to the grocery store to get the dinner and other staples they would need for the next few days and go home, spend the night with his kids and Dean and get to bed early. That was all. Really. It sounds so simple when laid out like that.

Caroline reaches up for his nose and he connects their foreheads softly. “Honestly, Care Bear, what’s up with those two, huh? You got any insights?”

She coos quietly and pats his cheek and for a crazy second, Sam thinks she knows exactly what he’s asking.

He’s exhausted. So incredibly exhausted. Hunting was an insane job and left him so weary some nights he couldn’t have told a stranger what town they were in, even if given a multiple choice answer. Still, some days he doesn’t think even that could prepare him for raising kids. The amount of sheer energy it takes just to keep up with the kids, let alone keep them in line is staggering.

And some days he worries he’s not up to the task.

The breaking of glass from the next aisle interrupts his indolent stupor and a spark of serious irritation, bright and sharp, shoots up his spine. He spurs the cart into motion with a murmured, “So help me, if they had something to do with that…”

His grumblings fade quickly when he finds two mayonnaise jars shattered on the floor, and two kids standing over the mess. His two kids.

When they see him, they launch into babbling explanations.

“She did it, Sam,” Will points accusatorially.

“Did not!” Abby yells.

“Did too!”

“Did not!”

Sam knows exactly where this is headed and quite literally sees red. A stillness descends over him and he’s been told on numerous occasions he can get scary when he’s really mad because when it’s particularly bad, he’s almost creepy calm.

He steers the cart over to the mess, plucks Caroline from her seat and stops in front of the two of them, silencing them with a look and a soft, “Follow me.”

He turns and doesn’t even glance back to see if they’re heeding his request.

Finding the closest employee, some teenage girl, who – if the look on her face is any indication – must know Sam’s pretty pissed off, he explains as calmly as he can, “My kids don’t know how to behave in public, so I’m afraid we can’t stay anymore.”

He hears a chorus of “no” and “Sam” and “we’ll be good” from behind him and pointedly ignores them. “I unfortunately had to leave my cart in aisle six and there’s a mayonnaise spill there, too, that I’ll be back to pay for as soon as I get them home. I’m very sorry to leave you with a mess, but we’ve got some peanut butter sandwiches to make.”

The protests become wails and frantic promises and the girl in front of him just looks scared and bobs her head rapidly, as though agreeing with him is her safest course of action.

Sam turns without really making eye contact with Abby or Will and says, “Let’s go.”

They’re halfway to the Impala when Abby really starts bawling, screaming the same five words over and over again, so loudly that her voice actually breaks a few times, “I don’t want peanut butter! I don’t want peanut butter!” She stops just to cry, a sobbing, nearly hysterical noise that affects her breathing rather precariously.

Will gets into the game with an insolent, “You can’t make us.”

Sam buckles Caroline – who has started to whimper slightly at all the tension – into her carseat and turns to look at them both.

Abby’s face is blotchy and red, her glasses fogged up from her tears and she’s coughing phlegm and snot and spit and Sam worries for a second that she’s going to choke.

Will crosses his arms and looks far older than his nine years. His words to Sam are quiet, but resigned with truth, and they rip Sam apart all the more because they’re not furious, not angry, just matter-of-fact. “You’re not our father. We don’t have to listen to you.”

The anger in Sam deflates in an instant, because it’s so incredibly, undeniably and unfairly true. He’s not their father and never will be. He can teach them and help them grow and learn and become responsible adults, but he’ll never be the person who created them, who gave them life.

And Sam’s so scared that will be a stumbling block to this little family for the rest of their lives.

He leans – more like falls if anyone’s watching closely – against the back door of the Impala and his chest hurts so bad, he thinks he might be having a heart attack. For a second, he has no words, because what the fuck do you say to that?

He just breathes the air – getting chillier by the day and he thinks, inanely, that they’ll have to get the kids winter coats at some point to stave off the cold. The three of them stand at a relatively awkward stalemate.

Abby sniffs and coughs and quiets, somewhat, recognizing something huge just went down.

Sam blinks, wanting rather badly to cry himself. He clears his throat and manages, “You’re right, Will. I’m not your father.” It takes him a minute to go any farther. He coughs a little and continues, “But I am responsible for you – all three of you and in addition to giving you a home and food and a bed, I also want to teach you and help you become good people.”

“Why?” It’s not really defiant, almost curious.

Sam’s literally speechless for a full thirty seconds. He thinks saying because next to Dean, you’re everything to me might be a bit much, even though it’s more true than anything else in his life. Instead, he goes with, “Because we – D-Dean and I – we wanted to help you.”

“What if we don’t want you to?” Will asks, voice quivering slightly, almost as though he realizes the enormity of what he’s asking in the parking lot of a grocery store.

Sam closes his eyes for a fraction of a second and thinks this is it. He’s a complete failure if his bumbling has brought them to this. And yet part of him -- the intellectual part that's able to think over all the books he's read -- also knows that it’s these moments – the teachable moments – that make parenting so incredibly significant. So he forcibly shakes himself out of his doubts and fears and choking terror because he knows, for them, he has to try to do this right.

Taking a deep breath, Sam practically whispers. “Well, i-if you want–” he almost can't get it out, but he hears the word choices in his head and if he’s serious about treating them like adults – if he’s really going to be a parent here – if he’s serious about giving them options, he knows he has to offer it, “if you want, you don’t have to be here, you don’t have to live with us. It really is your choice. But,” his breath shakes out past his lips and he doesn’t want to say it, knows it could risk everything, but he also knows they’ve reached an incredibly important moment here, “but if you do, you’re going to have to follow the rules and one of them is good behavior. Especially when we’re in public.”

Abby’s bottom lip quakes and Sam recognizes that her expression leans more toward wide-eyed fear than anger at not getting her way.

Sam lets out another huff of air and his voice sounds watery even to his own ears. “Right now, though, if you could get in the car so we can go home, it would be helpful. You can make your decision about staying or going once we get back to the house.” He swallows past the lump in his throat. “We’ll have to decide what the next step will be and I c-can’t just leave you here in the parking lot, so...”

His words trail off, partly because he really doesn't know what else to say and partly because the thought of leaving them makes him unable to speak and the idea of losing them makes his stomach clench. It’s like a lifetime of Tuesdays in Broward County. It’s like clocks forever counting three hundred sixty five days ‘til midnight.

He wonders if his entire life is going to be spent losing what he cares about the most.

He doesn’t know where the energy comes from but somehow he manages to get to the driver’s side and slide behind the wheel. Caroline fusses in her seat in the back and he hums low, trying to soothe her, wondering if when she gets older if she’ll want to leave, too.

He almost throws up.

Abby opens and closes the passenger door all by herself, crawls into the front seat and scurries all the way over to Sam, putting her face against his arm, gripping his shirt wordlessly. He noses the top of her head for a second, getting that little kid scent and whispers, “Buckle up, baby.”

She stays in the middle, fumbling with the seatbelt. Sam reaches down to help and even once he has the latch snapped into place, she’s still practically in his lap. The metal must be digging into her hip, but he doesn’t suggest she move.

Will gets into the back beside Caroline’s carseat and snaps his belt into place without being told.

The ride to the house is silent except for Abby’s occasional sniffle.

By the time they get there, Will goes right into his room and shuts the door. Abby appears almost lost as she stands in the middle of the kitchen, eyes darting around. Sam gets Caroline into her playpen and reaches for the remainder of the bread.

His hands tremble as he spreads the peanut butter, but in his mind, he's focused on the follow through. He knows if he wants to be seen as an authority, he needs to do what he tells them he will.

Constructing simple sandwiches turns out to be a daunting task -- second guesses and doubts swirling in his mind, making him nearly mad -- but the Winchester stubborn wins out and he refuses to let uncertainty cloud his reason and judgment.

Dr. Spock quotes flash through his memory and he wonders for a second if this is normal. If other people with kids go through this same thing -- this sensation of insanity when presented with issues like these.

He offers Abby a sandwich, but she looks about as nauseous as he feels and declines with a shake of her head.

By the time Dean gets home, Abby's in her room, Caroline's in her swing in the living room and Sam's sitting on the edge of the coffee table, nearly incoherent. It takes what's left of his considerable willpower to not throw himself bodily at his brother as he walks through the door.

Dean takes one look and Sam can see decades-old instincts wash through his brother's body. Dean's across the room in mere seconds.

"Sammy, holy shit, what is it?"

Sam's head jerks and he tries to get his voice to work.

"Dude, you're scaring the hell out of me here," his eyes jump to Caroline. "Where are Will and Abby?"

"Their rooms," Sam whispers.

"They're okay?" Dean demands.

Sam can only nod. He knows he's making this worse, freaking Dean out, but he's so incredibly relieved to have another adult -- to have Dean here -- that he struggles to speak.

"Okay," Dean squares his shoulders, like he's preparing to take on some supernatural creature -- Sam has seen him adopt the stance all his life. "Tell me."

In spurts and starts and garbled descriptions, Sam gets the story out. From the website problems, to the screaming in the store, to the peanut butter sandwiches -- and Sam thinks if he never sees a jar of Jiffy again it'll be too soon -- and through it all, he watches Dean relax by increments, until he slides into slightly annoyed.

"Sammy," Dean interrupts details about the car ride. "This is just because the kids were bad in the store?"

Sam swallows and can feel his eyes prickle. "No, this is about me fucking up. Again. I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so sorry," and he wonders if he'll ever stop having to say he's sorry to his brother. "I just...I couldn't let them...and they hate me so much, God, they really do... and I'm not," his voice cracks, but he keeps going, "a-any good at this and I sh-shouldn't have done this. I should j-just get out of here and let you do this yourself. I-It'll be b-better--" and that's when the words run out on a choked sound Sam can't hold back.

Dean steps forward, within touching distance and reaches out for the back of Sam's head. His tone is the one from Sam's childhood -- soothing, pacifying. "Okay, okay, Sammy, you're okay. You're spiraling, kiddo. Just take a breath."

Sam tells himself it's gravity and exhaustion and worry that makes him lean into Dean, settling his forehead against his brother's chest, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows he needs the comfort maybe more than he needs air at the moment. His brother smells like the garage and leather and clean and that spicy scent that's wholly Dean and Sam doesn't move for a full three minutes.

Dean scratches the hair on the back of Sam's neck and after a while, Sam has to stop himself from making a purring noise. "They hate me," he whispers instead.

He feels more than hears Dean's huff of laughter. "I really doubt that."

Sam rubs his head against Dean's sternum. "You should have seen how they looked at me when I took them out of the store and I told," his throat closes up for a second, "I just, I want them to grow up to be good people and I want them to have ch-choices and Will said I wasn't his dad and he didn't have to listen to me and I'm not, you know?" he looks up through his bangs at his brother, "I know I'm not, so I," he takes an inadequate breath, "I t-told him he didn't have to live with us if he didn't want to and God," he coughs on a sound suspiciously like a sob, "it'll kill me if he wants to go and you'll hate me,God, you'll hate me so much and you sh-should....I just, I want to be fair with them," and the justification and reasons seem really lame and stupid when said out loud like that. "Jesus," Sam huffs. "I'm such a fuck up."

"You're not breathing again, Sam," Dean murmurs, tone surprisingly light. "And, no, you're not a fuck up. Bit of a drama queen..."

Laughter bubbles up suddenly in Sam's chest, a knee-jerk reaction and release, the exact result, he's fairly certain, his brother was going for. Dean's one of the few -- if not only -- people who somehow always manages to break through Sam's insecurities, and he's never been more grateful for his brother's presence than he is at this moment in their little living room, with Caroline giggling to herself just a few feet away.

Dean inhales, "Tell you what, Sammy, I'm assuming you didn't actually get any groceries, right?"

Sam grabs his brother's shirt in a fist, "The mayonnaise."

Dean raises his eyebrows in one of his patented _my brother is a the king of random_ looks and just nods. "Okay. Weird. Why don't you go back to the store and get what we need. I've got it from here."

Sam hesitates. He wants to tell Dean that despite it all, he's trying to do what's right, teach the kids that they have to listen because at some point it might be really important and keep them safe and make them good people. Mostly he just wants to say please have my back with this and even though it's bad, don't undo it all. Sam knows how important it is that they're both on the same page -- present a united front -- so the kids don't play the game of going to one to get a yes when the other says no.

But if he says all that out loud, Dean will scoff at him.

He tries to convey it with his eyes and part of him thinks Dean gets it. Dean grins and scrubs a hand through Sam's hair. "I know. It'll be okay. Go get some food. At least for breakfast tomorrow, okay?"

Sam nods, an almost involuntary action, and lets go of Dean's shirt.

He kisses Caroline on her head before grabbing the keys. Dean gives him a reassuring smile as Sam closes the door and hopes with everything in him that he didn't just irrevocably fuck up the best thing in his life.  
~~


	3. Really Living part three

  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
Dean sets Caroline's swing outside of Will's bedroom door and knocks softly. "Will, it's Dean. Okay if I come in?"

He gets a soft noise that sounds affirmative, so he twists the knob. 

Will's sitting on his bed in the dark, watching something out the window, clutching his pillow pal (or whatever the hell it's called) with the face and outfit of a baseball player -- Dean thinks the thing's a little freaky, but Will seems to really love it, so Dean lets it go.

Sitting on the end of the bed Dean starts with, "Hey, buddy."

Will sighs a small, "Hi." 

"Bad day?"

Will shrugs. 

Abby races around the corner, past Caroline in the hall and jumps into Dean's lap, curling tightly around him. 

"Hey Abs, how's my girl?"

"Sam said we have to leave," Abby whines against Dean's shirt. 

Dean closes his eyes and his gut clenches against the abrupt, vehement denial that he wants to voice. Loudly. He saw his brother and he knows the last thing in the world he wants is to lose these kids. "That's weird," Dean keeps his tone as level as possible. "Doesn't sound like Sam. I know for a fact he loves you guys a lot. You sure you're not fibbing a little, Abby?"

Abby sniffs. 

"'Cause I'd like to talk about what happened today, but we gotta be straight with each other, you know?"

Abby raises big, brown eyes and Will glances at him for a split second. 

"So, Abba," the silly nickname makes her lips quirk, "Is that really what Sam said?"

She shakes her head. 

"Didn't think so," Dean says. "I'm pretty sure he gave you guys a choice and I wanted to hear what you had decided."

Abby chants  _I don't wanna go_  over and over. 

Dean rubs his chin against her soft curls. "No one's gonna make you go, Abby. That's the whole idea about having a choice. You choose. And whatever you decide is what we'll do. Okay?"

She nods, seemingly satisfied. "Kay."

Dean glances up at Will, who's gone back to finding something outside the window remarkably fascinating. "What about you, Will. What do you think?"

Will remains quiet for a bit, and Dean waits him out. Eventually he turns his head and asks, "I can really go?"

Dean has to struggle to maintain eye contact and his voice is weak because the thought of Will  _wanting_  to go just about eviscerates him, but he says, "If you don't want to be here, Will, we can figure out something, but Sam and I, we'll both miss you like crazy. We love you a lot and want you to stay. We're your legal guardians, but we also want you to have the choice. Do you understand?"

"You're not my dad," Will announces, calmly. 

And Jesus, if Sam felt even half the gut-wrenching pain Dean does at Will's words, no wonder his brother was so fucked up when he got home. Truth hurts, he thinks and realizes he had no idea the accuracy of that statement until this moment. 

He attempts to mirror Will's tone, but doubts his success with the pain in his stomach almost choking him, "No. I'm not you're dad, and I'd never want to try to take his place, but I am responsible for you and you've come to mean a lot to me -- to me and Sam and we'd really like it if you'd stay."

In the past, Dean would have winced at the sap and his own chick flick moment, but he knows this is important and raising these kids has made him face what's going on and talk about his feelings way more than he ever has before. Denial and ignoring problems really won't work and he likes to think it's a sign of growth that he's embraced the changes -- not necessarily wholeheartedly, but he's making strides in the right direction at least. 

"We weren't that bad in the store," Will says, a note of petulance slipping in.

"So the need to leave in the middle of getting stuff to eat happened for no reason then?"

Will frowns and Dean thinks he got at least one point on that one. 

Abby starts playing with one of the buttons on Dean's shirt and he smiles to himself. Sometimes he has to remember that she's so young. 

Will lets go of the baseball player pillow. "Why do I get to choose if I stay or go, but not what I want at the store? How come I can't choose everything?"

Christ, the kid's gonna be a lawyer or something. Those are some serious deductive reasoning skills he's got. Dean inhales, wondering how the hell he's going to explain this. "Look, Will, I'm not your dad, okay? The only connection we've got is the one we build. I'm not your blood, so I'm not technically your family," the words cost him to say them, but he wants Will to understand. "At the same time, though, I am your guardian and I gotta look out for you and Abby and Caroline and that means because I'm older and an adult, I know what's better for you sometimes, so you gotta do what I ask. And what Sam asks. Sometimes you get a choice and sometimes you don't. It sucks, I know, but when you're eighteen, then you're considered a legal adult, so you'll be good to go in like nine short years."

Will sighs. 

The three of them are quiet for a bit. Caroline gurgles in her swing and Dean rocks back and forth minutely with Abby in his arms. 

Will's voice is a hushed whisper, "I think Sam wants me to leave."

Dean doesn't even try to hide the shock. "Dude, you gotta be screwing with me and that's not funny."

Will blinks a couple of times and his eyes fill. "He doesn't?"

"My God, no, man. Sam doesn't want to keep you here if you really don't want to be here and he knows he's not your dad, but it hurts him -- hurts both of us real bad to be reminded of that. Jeez, Will, you've seen that desk of his at the bookstore. He's got pictures of you kids there and he's always talking about you to everyone. Remember when we met your teacher and saw your desk? He didn't quit talking about how smart you are and how proud he is of you and how he can't wait to see the person you become because he knows you're gonna be amazing."

The tears are tracking freely down Will's face. "R-really?"

"Heck yeah, man. We love you guys so much, it's crazy."

Will chokes on a sob and crawls across the bed to Dean, taking the opposite side from Abby. Dean snuggles them both against his chest and whispers, "That's my guy."

"I'm s-sorry," Will murmurs. "I'm sorry."

It's eerily similar to Sam's words earlier and it's not the first time Dean recognizes the resemblance Sam and Will sometimes share. Will's remarkably hazel eyes and his incredibly sharp mind, all make it easy to see why Will's denouncement of Sam being his father would cut so quick. His brother must have noticed the uncanny ways in which Will could actually pass for his son. 

Dean rests his lips on the crown of Will's head. "Think you're gonna stay with us then?"

Will nods and sniffles.

"Awesome," Dean whispers. 

Abby declares her hunger a few minutes later and Dean tells them it's peanut butter sandwiches or nothing. They nod and even without words, Dean thinks they've reached a real understanding. 

Under the dim light in the kitchen, the four of them eat a supper of sandwiches and hushed conversation -- Caroline nibbles on some Cheerios -- and Dean thinks it may be the best meal he's ever had. 

~~

Sam's unpacking the last of the groceries, and he's essentially numb. Feels like he's lived three weeks in one day and he's almost ready to fall asleep on his feet when Dean comes down the hall in a t-shirt and sweatpants, his bare feet padding on the carpet. 

"Hey," Dean murmurs, opening a bag of sour cream and onion chips, shoving a hefty handful in his mouth. 

Sam's ready for the recriminations; he's been preparing himself on the ride from the store. "The kids?" he asks. 

"In bed. Teeth brushed and everything," Dean mumbles around the chips in his mouth. 

Sam nods. He wants to go in, say goodnight, maybe read a story, like normal. Part of him wants to throw himself on their mercy, beg their forgiveness, ask them to like him again, but that's an immature reaction, he knows, and he tries to quell the impulse.

He must list toward the hall because Dean shakes his head, "Nah. Don't. They're fine. Wait 'til tomorrow. Let them sleep on it."

Sam clenches his teeth. "That bad huh?"

Dean narrows his eyes. "I get it, you know," he pauses, claps crumbs off his fingers, closes the bag of chips and Sam frowns. "What you're doing. With them. Giving them choices when you can, but expecting them to tow the line when they need to. I get it. It's hard as fucking hell, different than anything we've done before, but I get it. And I'm with you. You're doing a good job, Sam. Hell, better than some people who actually plan to be parents. And the kids know it, too." 

Sam's breath catches. After the roller coaster of the day he's had, the words cascade through him, bringing needles of relief and comfort and even a slight sense of satisfaction. His smile is watery -- he can feel it -- and he has the overwhelming urge to fold his brother into his arms and just hang on. 

An itch of want from years ago follows his initial compulsion and the urge to kiss Dean -- sweep his tongue over his lips, lick through the salt and sour cream to get to the taste of his brother -- shivers down his spine.

He blames the close quarters and domestic scene they've set up here for kindling the long-ago fire in his belly again. He pushes the thoughts away -- like he's done for so long, an automatic response -- and whispers, "Thanks, Dean. I mean it."

Dean waves the gratitude off with a hand in the air and a grumbled "'m goin' to bed. 'member to lock up."

Sam's still smiling when he turns out the last light. 

~~

It's difficult, but Sam manages to let Dean get the kids ready for school the following morning while he works on breakfast. Sam's stirring up the eggs, Caroline humming to herself in her highchair, when Will walks into the kitchen. 

"Sam?" his voice is very much a nine-year-old. 

Sam sets the pan away from the heat and turns to face him. "Hey, Will."

Will wastes no time getting across the room and wraps himself around Sam's waist. Sam scoops him off the floor and Will clings with arms and legs, burying his nose against Sam's neck. "M'sorry," he whispers. "I love you."

Sam holds Will just as tight, the warm feeling in his chest tingling to his fingers. "Love you two, buddy. So much. We gonna be okay?"

Will nods. 

Sam swivels his hips back and forth, rocking Will against him. 

Will's question is so quiet, Sam nearly misses it. "Are you really proud of me?"

Sam barely chokes back the noise that emotion yanks out of him. "God, yes, Will. You're so bright and funny and sharp. I'm so incredibly proud of you."

Will nods again. "I'm proud, too. M'proud that you take care of me."

Sam closes his eyes and tries really hard not to cry. It's made a little easier by Abby and Dean's entrance into the kitchen -- they've both got hairbrushes in their left hands and they're crooning (more like shrieking, really) _Walk This Way_ as they strut around the table. 

Will pulls his head off of Sam's shoulder and Sam asks, "You hungry? The quicker we get food into them, the quicker the concert's over."

Will giggles and agrees. 

Although by the time the eggs, bacon and toast are on the table, they've moved on to _Dude Looks Like a Lady._  

All four of them. Even Caroline squeals along.   
  
~~


End file.
